


The Scion and the Squire

by AlphaStarr



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fairytale Parody, M/M, Rating subject to change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaStarr/pseuds/AlphaStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince John, Heir to the Kingdom of Breath, would rather not travel all the way to Heart, especially because of an arranged marriage with its Prince. On the other hand, adventure-hopeful Jake, Page to the Knight of Time, would give his right leg to just leave town! If only they could switch places...</p><p>AKA the crappy Prince-and-Pauper style AU fic. After all, haven't you noticed how similar John and Jake look?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ==> Be John Egbert

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.  
> I loathe myself for writing this.

You are JOHN EGBERT, and rather unfortunately, you are the HEIR to the Kingdom of BREATH.

Normally, being the next-in-line to rule over your home kingdom wasn't any particular inconvenience. Sure, you'd like to go out and be an ECTOALCHEMIST, or a MAGICIAN, or something like that instead, but overall it isn't such a bad occupation to have.

Except right now, your rather small kingdom is under siege by a terrifyingly large army of strange men, clad in CARAPACE-LIKE ARMOR, ALL BLACK. You know what they're after, of course-- the Kingdom of Breath is world-renowned for its bakers and shoemakers ("cooks and cobblers," as your Dad refers to them), which are a worldwide commodity. It's some sort of major status symbol if someone can import Breath bakers to cater your dinners or events. You personally don't care for the CAKES (bluh!), but you can personally vouch for the LIQUID-FILLED FRUIT BONBONS known in the vernacular as GUSHERS.

With your kingdom's industry at risk of being taken over, your Dad has decided that you need to make some MILITARY ALLIANCES immediately. The people must be protected. He seems to know the vast majority of them on a personal level, and you have to admit he's more like a FRIEND-LEADER than a King. You've never been one for ordering people around, yourself, but you pretty much feel the same way about protecting these guys. LIV TYLER, one of the maids in the castle, was practically your mother; her daughter CASEY is now your little helper. She follows you around, cutely blowing bubbles from a plate of soap to announce your entrance into a room. You'd hate to see anything happen to her, she's practically family.

Unfortunately, the only alliance your Kingdom belongs to is a GOODS AND SERVICES UNION comprised of only three other nations-- the land of LIGHT, a bright land with conditions ideal for agriculture of all kinds the land of SPACE, famous for its architecture and livestock; and the land of TIME, well known for its factories and machines, especially watches.

The enemy army is FAST APPROACHING. You need an alliance with a powerful military state, ASAP, or you face obliteration and rule under the malevolent JACK NOIR, the apparent leader of said CARAPACE ARMY. There is no time to make another trade agreement, which takes _months_ to HAMMER OUT.

And here we are, back to the start: it sucked to be John Egbert.

Especially because your only remaining choice is a POLITICAL MARRIAGE.

At the moment, you have FOUR SUITORS, none of whom you particularly want to marry. You're pretty sure they're all perfectly good people, but you haven't even met most of them before today!

You think your Dad favors having an alliance with the Kingdom of LIFE. Your cousin, Lady Jane, is a resident there with a great deal of political power in courts; you are already somewhat . Admittedly, their princesses are kind of terrifying. One of them was obsessed with swimming, and when they served baked cuttlefish for dinner last night, she cried. You personally find it unpalatable, but geez! Talk about overkill. The other one looks like she was raised by barbarians with unusual haircutting techniques. Her plethora of piercings make her more than a little intimidating. The both of them speak with ridiculous accents that alter how their Hs and Es sounded, and bad fish puns on top of that. You can barely carry on a conversation without a dictionary of marine wildlife on hand.

You much prefer the MARQUISE SERKET, a lady from the Kingdom of LIGHT. There have been rumors that she is engaged in illegal ventures such as piracy, murder, and assassination. You like her a great deal, but you probably wouldn’t marry her either. You’ve only known her for like, one day! Although she enjoys attending plays at Cage Theater as much as you do, you don’t really know that much more about her. She has the armies at her disposal that you could use to save the kingdom and she likes Cage plays almost as much as you do. She is definitely your favorite suitor. Your dad just doesn’t like her for some weird reason. Maybe it’s because on the day she showed up, one of the Pages had a really bad accident. Your dad probably took it as an omen or something like that.

Your final option would be GENERAL KARKAT VANTAS, a member of the tribe that’s attacking you. You would be predisposed to hate him for this reason, but he seems pretty OK to you. The political alliance could save your people, but it would require your kingdom merging with his, and you’ll only let that happen as a last resort. You haven’t seen him much, but you have heard him yelling from time to time. At the very least, you know his name, which is more than you can say for some of your other suitors. You suppose you could be FRIENDS eventually, but he is kind of an obnoxious jerk and you would really rather not marry him, thanks. Besides, he has horrible tastes in plays!

What’s that, you say? NOT A HOMOSEXUAL?

What is a homosexual even? You didn’t study it that much. You think you remember a mention back in one of your textbooks from the last century; it’s antiquated enough to be basically irrelevant. That sort of stuff doesn’t matter; everyone knows that same-sex couples can easily reproduce with the aid of ECTOALCHEMY. Duh.

You reconsider your options. You really don’t want to marry _any_ of them; you mostly just see them as POTENTIAL FRIENDS. I mean, geez, how do you expect a guy to pick from a legion of suitors after knowing them for just over one day? You can’t do it.

You think you’d pick Vriska, but your dad keeps looking at her like she’s about to shove you off a cliff at any given moment-- a completely ludicrous idea that has no basis whatsoever in reality. I mean, who even thinks that shit up? She looks more interested in that one Page guy anyways, the one that never went on to be a Squire or Knight, for some reason.

You are John Egbert, and you have reached a complete STALEMATE.

“I, uh, don’t know,” you spit out at last, in reply to your Dad’s earlier query. Now he’ll probably pick one of your suitors for you, because fuck, you’re out of time. You have maybe a MONTH at best before your state and the attacking tribe officially DECLARE WAR on each other. and there’s no time to waste.

Your father looks at you thoughtfully, solemnly. It is the face you have seen on him hundreds of times, his serious-talk face. You prepare yourself for a faceful of pie; your Dad likes to do that sort of shit whenever he sits you down for a good, man-to-man discussion. You know it’s dead serious when the pie doesn’t come.

“John,” he says at last. “As I’m sure you’re aware, we are in a very bad situation here.”

“I know,” you insist. “We’ve got limited options. I just don’t see how one is better than the other.”

“Exactly,” your Dad agrees. “We have three suitors that have some forces we could use to fight the Blood Tribe. However, they’ve taken over kingdoms with far greater power. If you marry Mr. Vantas, they’ll conquer this land, too, without any war. It would be a solution, but we can’t let them do that. Life is difficult in their community, son, and I’m afraid our people will be pushed to the bottom of the social echeladder. It’s a difficult choice to make. I’m proud of you for even trying.”

You almost roll your eyes at that. Typical Dad, all right.

“Which is why I’m asking you to consider a fifth option,” your Dad continues, withdrawing a note from the drawer beside him. It’s a beige scroll, marked with a MAROON SEAL in the shape of a HEART. “We received a message from the Prince of Heart, requesting your hand in marriage. The Kingdom of Heart is far; about six days’ travel through the Land of Time. It was invaded by the Blood Tribe two years ago, when the Prince first started his rule, but he successfully defeated them. The Army of Heart is one of the most skilled around.”

You stare at the paper. You don’t want to marry this guy. You really don’t. Who the fuck wants to go get hitched to some stranger nearly two hundred miles away from home? Certainly not you. 

But your Dad is giving you this _look_. The kind of look that says he expects you not to condemn your kingdom.

“Okay,” you say. You try to bargain, “But no cake for the next two years!”

You Dad raises an eyebrow at you.

“Okay, fine, only my birthday,” you concede, sighing.

Your Dad nods curtly, “I’m proud of you, son. I’ll handle your suitors. The carriage leaves tomorrow morning. You should start packing.”

You head upstairs to do so.

Oh God why did you even _agree_ to that?

"Oh, and son?" you Dad calls you again, and you turn around. 

SPLAT!!!

Damn. You should have seen that pie coming. 


	2. ==> Be Jake English

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably mention at I don't own Homestuck? That was pretty obvious, but for legal reasons I should probably say that.

You are now JAKE ENGLISH and HOLY TWEEDSHITTING TWAIN are you bored.

You have lived your WHOLE FUCKING LIFE on a tiny estate in the Kingdom of Time. Your father, the master of the manor, had his heart set on you becoming a COURTIER at the capital, or at least a proper LORD. When you discovered that would involve sitting around a table and arguing over taxes for the vast majority of the morning and afternoon, while kissing up to the king for the remainder of the day, you went off to apprentice yourself to the first KNIGHT that needed a PAGE. You aren’t one for staying at home; every bone in your body craves ADVENTURE!!!

Unfortunately, the most exciting thing that’s happened to the entire kingdom in literally FOUR HUNDRED YEARS was an errant DRAGON ATTACK when you were ten years old. Even then, it only destroyed three villages and incinerated twelve factories, with (fortunately) no consequential deaths due to the timely evacuation procedures in place all across the land.

As the story goes, a brave Knight, just about your age right now, from the kingdom to the West arrived to save your kingdom before anyone got hurt. He traversed the lands, hunting down the the destructive dragon. Travelling through the rough terrain of the Kingdom of Time, he set forth with naught but a poorly-wrought sword and some sicknasty ballads to pass the time while hiking over harsh mountains and through dusty, old mines. Nobody’s quite sure how, but he tamed the dragon and he only has to call it by whistle. He arrived back to a celebration, that mysterious knight, and became a hero without anyone ever learning his whole name even! It’s like a chapter of a riveting novel, or maybe even a Cameron Theater Play. Golly, the only thing it’s missing is a CERULEAN LADY.

You would give your right leg for an ADVENTURE like that.

You thought you’d get adventure every day when the Knight took you on as his Page four years ago.

You were horribly, horribly mistaken.

Being Dave’s squire is no walk in the park, and certainly not an adventurous one. Your days consist of running ERRANDS across town to pick up groceries or deliver messages, followed by manual labor, usually MINEWORK, to help the Kingdom’s citizens. According to the plays you see, working in the mines is a DANGEROUS TASK, full of potential collapses that you might need to escape from like a dashing storybook HERO, rescuing a HOPELESSLY LOST maiden who may have stumbled in there by accident.

Technology is advanced enough that there hasn’t been a collapse in the last ten years.

In the evenings, you train with Dave. Sometimes he makes you STRIFE with him, and he kicks your ass. It takes five seconds before you blink, and exactly one blink for Dave to get in your blind spot and knock you out. On occasion, he lets you bring hunting rifles or pistols to fight with him, and he goes in with half a sword. He still manages to escape without a scratch and you usually wind up with more bruises than usual.

It’s really unfair how much stronger he is, especially since he’s only six years older than you are. And you aren’t exactly scrawny for the age of sixteen, either!

Most of the time, he tries to school you in the arts of IRONY and RAPPING. You really don’t understand either. Why would you even try to learn such pointless, bookish malarkey? It’s not like it’ll help you garner any more adventure!

“No, man, you can’t put that many syllables between words that rhyme. You’ve got to feel the flow,” Dave clenches his teeth in an almost-grimace at your SUCKISH POETRY now, pointing to a line. “And try to keep the profanities to a minimum, yo. This is an ironic sonnet about how much you hate poetry, not a sweet-ass rap.”

You are sick of this. You slam the quill down on the page, splattering grass-green ink across the paper. Some of it flies up and hits Dave in the face, and his repressed grimace deepens into a full-out irate look, complete with a wrinkled nose.

“Jegus christ, you don’t have to throw a fucking tantrum about it,” he mumbles.

“I’m not,” you bite back defensively. “This ironic poetry thing is complete and utter BOLLOCKS! Maybe if you taught me anything USEFUL, or something actually CONSTRUCTIVE to knighthood, I’d be giving you different results!”

Dave is now frowning at you, “And how do you know it isn’t useful? You're talking to a knight here, bro. THE Knight of Time, in fact. I ain’t no traditionalist, but man, you’ve got to learn how to iambicize your pentameter. That shit’s fucking essential to your sense of timing in a battle, yo.”

“Why the bugger would I need that?” you scowl petulantly. “I just need a sword and a shield and a horse, and I can fight off anyone that comes my way!”

Dave snorts, “Maybe if they come at you on a clear spring day from a point of vantage that you can see from two miles away on steeds that move like turtles with only three legs.”

You huff obstinately.

“Listen, we aren’t going to going to go anywhere until you’re ready to accept the method, bro,” his tone is ever-so-slightly off monotone, enough to give it a condescending edge as he shakes his head and claps you on the shoulder. “Go for a walk... Page.”

You seethe with fury at his insult, calling you a rank below your actual status. Pages were little more than glorified errand boys! He turns around and you mirror his actions, sulking. What does he know about being an adventurer, anyways?

Oh.

Fuck.

Right.

You should probably admit that he ought to know what he’s doing, but honestly, it sounds so ludicrously COUNTERPRODUCTIVE! It’s like adding salt to pineapples-- which you haven’t actually had, but evidently they’re some sort of specialty around where Dave’s from, and also a popular food to write into plays. Why would you add salt to something sweet like that? Wouldn’t it make the food, you know, saltier? It completely mystifies you.

The reason why you quit being a courtesan was to escape all of this poetry mumbo-jumbo. I mean, granted, at least Dave’s raps are easier to understand then some of the poetic plays you’ve seen (Dr. Seuss is way too mired in symbolism for you to comprehend; your English tutor deemed you an utter failure when you were ten years old), but they’re still really difficult to compose. Who in their right mind would WANT to spend hours going through a thesaurus of words just to find one that meant what you wanted it to say, _and_ rhymed with the line before it?

Nay, you don’t do that! You are Jake English, adventurer extraordinaire! You can see it now; one day you’ll go out on a far-away errand, maybe to the nearest village outside your father’s estate! You’ve never left the tiny peninsula of your township in your whole life, even though the next closest area is only two miles off (barely an hour away!). Someone always stops you before you cross, asking you to help them in what you suspect is an attempt to distract you. But not this time! You would cross the border with no problems, and stumble into a village under attack by a legion of thieves!

With your sharpshooting pistols, you would pick off the treasure-laden bandits from a distance until they absconded. Then, you would hunt down their hide out, then rush in, guns ablazing and bring them to justice before returning to the town, vengeance acutely extracted.

Or, you would, if you could actually handle killing things. You admit that you even have a difficult time bringing cows to the slaughterhouse.

The fantasy shattered, and all hope of adventure lost, you begrudgingly look up, hoping that you’ve landed yourself in some unfamiliar territory or at least the middle of the woods, where you could duel savage cannibals for your life. Of course, you know where you are-- there isn’t a single inch of your father’s estate that you haven’t explored. You know very well that there aren’t any woods around here, cannibal-containing or otherwise: this is a mining district, after all.

Your musing has brought you to the very outskirts of town, a place where you have oft wandered. The main road isn’t too far from here, but you’re afraid of being roped into another useless task if you cross the border...

Except there are a few carriages, crashed on the side of the road. Most of them are missing wheels, evidently turned into the splinters beside the road, and the entire entourage of vehicles following is in shambles. It looks like more than a few horses have run off, and you just HAVE to go over and investigate this.

You approach the out-of-commission carriages, careful to go unseen. You use the moves you remember from one of the plays you’ve seen, titled James Bond, a story about a smooth, classy, assassin for hire. Most certainly, nobody will stop you now!

Now that you’re a little closer to the wreckage, you can see in the dim evening light that the carriages are a deep, royal blue with some foreign insignia on the side. You recall seeing a diplomat wearing a similar sign; but you don’t remember when. Certainly, it was a good few years ago!

There could be a lady or gentleman trapped inside the broken boxcar, you think. It wouldn’t be very heroic of you to abscond from people who very clearly need your help! You walk right up to the destroyed vehicle, and yell, “Is anyone in there? Do you need help?”

You are more than slightly surprised when you receive an answer.


End file.
